


A Lack of Compunction

by aroray



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Gunplay, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Abuse, Video Cameras, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroray/pseuds/aroray
Summary: The usual explanation would be that "Ray makes a mistake," but for one thing, he knows exactly what he's doing. For the other, he makes way more than just one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> awfully indulgent.

“What’s your worst kink?”

Ray raises an eyebrow, hand stopping short of shielding the flame of a battered lighter that he probably pocketed just last night. The light goes out as he complains, “Now? Really?”

Sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor across from him, Michael laughs.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t burn one.”

Petulant, Ray fits the joint snug between his teeth again and flicks the sparkwheel. Breathes in. Pauses. Thinks. “Why are you asking as if you don’t know it already?” He finally asks. “If anything, go ask Ry. Bet he could tell you what I’m into, if you care so much.”

Michael snorts and leans forward, reaching. “C’mon, Ray. Everyone’s got something fucked up they’re into that’s too dirty to tell. It’s not like I’m asking you to fuckin’ show me or anything. If it’s pissing, just go find Gavin or something.” He frowns as Ray takes another long, deep pull before flicking the roach onto the ground. “Hey, fucker -”

“Oh shut up,” Ray mutters, wisps of smoke escaping the corners of his mouth.

He grins suddenly, all shark-like, and pulls Michael in by the wrist forcefully before burying a hand in his dense curls and slotting their mouths together. As he exhales, Michael’s eyes flutter shut. Shoulders go slack. But before Michael can shotgun the entirety, he starts coughing.

“That’s what I thought,” Ray laughs airily. He pulls away.

Michael glares, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Ray shrugs as he twirls a new roll between his fingers. “Whatever. You actually want this one or not? Besides, half the time I’m too fucking high to remember _shit_. It’s great. You should try it sometime.”

Tilting his head back in disappointment, Michael sighs.

 

\--

 

Of course Ray goddamn remembers. Enough, anyways.

He shivers as he wanders about downtown, hands stuffed in his hoodie, a mess of bills in his front pocket. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he walks under a broken streetlamp. There’s eyes watching him from the alley, so he hurries. That’s not his scene, not his style. It’s Michael’s.

Sixteen different types of misery do a slow crawl under his skin as he recollects with a pang of jealousy how Michael looked the other night hopped up on enough morphine to kill, Gavin cradling his head lovingly in his lap. Lying there, broken and battered, lips bloodied. Smiling.

A fucking human disaster.

Ray’s hand twitches involuntarily and fingers bump up against soft plastic, something different to dwell on. Better. Anticipation swells in his throat. His legs walk him into his favourite seedy dive bar in town, the neon sign barely aglow, and he sits. At least six pairs of eyes are on him as he slides onto a stool, gaze downturned. He knows at least one of them is imagining fucking him over the bar counter.

So he sits, pulls out some m, downs it with the drink that suddenly appears in his hand, and waits for ruin.

Half an hour later finds Ray’s face shoved up against switchblade graffiti in a bathroom stall, a stranger’s hand wrapped around his throat and a cock in his ass. He’s at least fifty percent sure his nose is bleeding into his mouth but he can’t part his lips far enough to check.

“Puta,” the man spits. Ray is inclined to agree.

A moan stutters out as spots blink in his peripheral vision. Next thing he knows, the cold is leeching from the ceramic tiles into his bare thighs and there’s cum leaking out of his ass and _god_ where are his pants. There’s a vague click in his brain and he realizes his wallet is gone as well, but he’s more pissed about the weed.

He forgets all of that as a shudder shreds through him like a shockwave and heat coils up in his gut. Ray whimpers, leaning against the stall door as he staggers upright, unsatisfied as anything.

“Sh-shhhhit,” he mutters, picking his shattered phone up off the toilet tank. To his knowledge, he manages to text someone to come get him, but he really can’t be sure because either a minute or two hours later his phone is gone and he’s respectable again and doing lines off the vanity of some girl with bright purple hair and trust issues.

His throat burns something awful.

Cracking a wide, shit-eating grin, Ray immediately fixes another line of coke. Most of it sprinkles into the carpet, but who the fuck cares. The rest is glossy; between the synapses firing and locomotion there’s at least twelve feet of black ice and all he remembers is someone fucking his mouth, a concussion that feels like taking a bong hit way too fast, and jerking somebody else off messily onto the face of the girl, who’s now crying.

Ray peels an orange for her and puts a faulty lighter into the palm of her hand, mutters a half-assed sorry and stumbles back outside into the night, head brimming with hazy nothing.

He floats away sometime between four a.m. and the sunrise, street fading into absolutely fuckall.

It’s probably fortunate that he can’t remember any of it, because when he finally wakes back up he’s in Geoff’s room in the penthouse with a long shallow cut throbbing on the back of one thigh and blood itching under his nose, on his chin and jaw.

Geoff is peering over the side of his bed down at Ray with wide eyes. It occurs to Ray that his pants are gone again. Fuck. Why the fuck are his pants always gone.

“Why the fuck are my pants always gone,” he asks Geoff, plaintive.

“Um?” replies Geoff, high pitched. “I don’t fuckin’ know?”

Ray wheezes out a laugh and flops over onto his stomach, rubbing the side of his face into the carpet. He hears a panicked noise from Geoff and the messy thuds of him scrambling out of bed. Geoff’s hand lands soft and tentative on his thigh, fingers brushing under what Ray guesses is probably a knife wound. He moans because he can’t currently find a reason not to and the hand flies away like a fuckin’ bird. He moans again, but in complaint this time.

“Jesus f- _uuuckin_ Christ Ray oh my god. Are you- are you high right now?”

Honestly. Like he’s ever _not_.

He kicks his good leg a little bit in silent demand and sighs contentedly into the carpet when Geoff shakily lays a hand over the back of his knee.

After a handful of minutes of laboured breathing and Ray decidedly not explaining, Geoff’s voice goes all soft, in that way Ray hates.

“Buddy, hey. Bud. _Ray._ ”

“Bud,” Ray says aloud. “Haha. Weed.”

Geoff makes an impatient sound and Ray halfway thinks Geoff might hit him. He moans again. Geoff pulls away again.

Frustration welling up, two parts ‘fuck why won’t anyone get me _off’_ and one part something Ray would rather never address, he turns his face into the floor and kind of screams. Just a little. It makes Geoff jump clear out of his skin, for what it’s worth, and Ray thinks he pulls something, like a vocal cord or a muscle or maybe he collapsed a lung, because he suddenly can’t breathe.

It must be bad because Geoff collects the trembling bundle that is Ray up in his arms. He curls up into Geoff’s warmth. God fucking bless.

“Hey Geoff,” he mumbles into Geoff’s throat. He’s so distracted by the way he can feel the vibration of Geoff’s reply that Geoff has to repeat himself. “Yeah, buddy? You okay?”

Ray has to try very, _very_ hard to restrain himself from telling Geoff that he’s more than okay, he’s fantastic, he can feel the outline of Geoff’s dick through his shirt and god there’s so much heat the only way Geoff could possibly make it better would be if he fucked him or hit him right now or did both or called him s-

“Sorry I’m a piece of shit,” he blurts instead. “God, I’m gross.”

He realizes he should really shut his mouth approximately five seconds too late because he’s so distracted by Geoff’s… in general being there. The realization itself falls out of his head immediately because Geoff makes this unhappy noise and it’s so, so close to a whine and holy shit would Ray like to make Geoff whine.

Logically, he should _not_ grab Geoff’s dick in this situation. Reasonable people do not do that, and especially not when said person looks suspiciously close to crying. To be fair, nobody should grab anyone’s dick unsolicited, but he’s fairly sure, or a little sure, that Geoff is at least a sliver into this.

So he doesn’t grab Geoff’s dick, no, just like… twists around in his lap a little and grinds on it. Also only a little. A reasonable amount.

Geoff’s arms clamp down around him hard enough to ache before he’s grabbing Ray by the shoulders roughly and finally holding him at arm’s length, silently evaluating Ray’s glassy eyes and mild grin. Geoff’s breath is heavy, Ray notes with satisfaction. He almost tells him as such, except Geoff’s mouth is already moving and oh shit he’s actually making words Ray should probably be listening to.

“-has gotten into you, I was scared half to death. What did you think was going to happen?” Geoff is demanding. “Dicks, _fuck,_ did you ever think what would’ve happened if I didn’t, didn’t find you? Ray, I’m fucking talking to you, you cunt.”

The expletives go straight to Ray’s dick and they shouldn’t. Yet here he is, popping a boner not because Geoff is worried for his general well-being, but because Geoff’s eyes are saying murder.

Ray’s teeth are rattling in his mouth as he remarks, “You shouldn’t shake babies, Geoff. Their brains go all funny.” He giggles. If Geoff’s fingers dig any deeper into his forearms he thinks he might actually lose it.

“You-” Geoff huffs out a frustrated breath and closes his eyes, stops and holds Ray steady.

His legs are still curled up at strange angles in Geoff’s lap, one arm hanging limply by his side and the other hooked over Geoff’s at the elbow. He tries scooching forward sneakily in the hollow of Geoff’s crossed legs, but Geoff catches on, sternly says “No,” and Ray’s mouth starts moving without his permission again and he’s blurting out “What are you, my dad? Gonna punish me, _daddy_?” and Geoff’s face does something very complicated and he dumps Ray on his back on the floor.

Ray frowns up at him blearily. “Why,” he mumbles, struggling and failing to stand up. Geoff is standing there looking kind of angry and kind of helpless and both of those things are doing it for Ray hardcore.

He very quickly gives up on being upright and just splays himself out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“Geoff,” he says. “Can I call you da-”

Before he can finish Geoff scoops him up. Ray’s vision swoops and goes bright and he gags a little, and by the time he’s recovered Geoff is carefully laying him out on the living room couch. His head lands in somebody’s lap, and he’s pleased to look up and see Ryan. “Oh shit! It’s Ryyyyyyy-man fuck dude hey.”

Ryan doesn’t look quite as happy to see him.

“Why isn’t he wearing pants.”

Ray wants to politely ask Ryan to touch him, but it gets all the fuck mixed up somewhere along the way and instead he says “Would you like… punch me in the stomach a little.” Ryan looks alarmed, so Ray hastily tacks on “Just a little. Like, twice?”

“No,” Geoff states blandly, as Ryan snaps his mouth shut.

Ray makes a jumbled, offended noise. “Didn’t ask you.” Then, hopefully: “Will you?”

He’s got his face stuck in Ryan’s stomach right now so he doesn’t see Geoff leave but he hears him stomp out of the room. For a split second, he thinks he might cry, but Ryan gently threads a hand through his hair and he instantly forgets why he was upset. “Oh fuck thanks!” he says into Ryan’s shirt. “That’s- ohhh my god. Ry, you don’t know how great that feels.”

“No?” Ryan murmurs, voice quiet but not quite tender. It shivers into Ray like a touch, and he huffs out a sigh. “Can I please blow you Ryan,” he mumbles. As Ryan’s hand stills in his hair he turns his face into Ryan’s lap, breathes over the outline of Ryan’s cock and says “Please, Ryan’s magnum dong?” into it.

For a second, he almost thinks his crappy line works.

Ryan pulls him away by the hair, satisfyingly firm but not hard enough to hurt like Ray wants it to. He makes an encouraging sound, lets his head hang from Ryan’s grip. Unfortunately, Ryan says “No, sweetheart,” and curves his hand around the back of Ray’s neck, grips softly there.

“Why, though. Why. Why does my life suck so much.”

“You are so _incredibly_ high right now,” Ryan says, more to himself than Ray.

In response, Ray weakly slaps Ryan’s cheek, the executed gesture resulting in more of a pat than anything else. Considering that it was an effort to get a rise out of Ryan, Ray fails miserably. He _feels_ miserable.

Pushing against Ryan’s chest, Ray half crawls, half trips towards the closest door. Bad idea. Between Ryan grabbing his wrist and his legs failing to keep him upright, the floor comes up to meet Ray before he can take another breath.

He passes out again.

When he comes to, there’s an ice pack being held, no, _pressed_ , against his left cheekbone. Forcibly. As though the intent is to crush rather than soothe. Ray nods in general agreement with nobody in particular that he deserves it.

“Good morning,” Michael says dryly from behind him. Ray stretches his head back on what turns out to be Michael’s chest, stares up at his chin. “Hey dude,” he says unsteadily, then turns his face harder into the ice pack that followed him as he went.

Under him he can feel Michael’s chest rise and fall in an exaggerated, fond sigh. “You’re real fucked up tonight, huh.”

“Yeah.”

The door swings open and Ray’s eyes, which apparently fell shut at some point, snap open. Gavin peeks in, sees Ray awake and Michael exasperated but patient, and beams at them. “Hey X-Ray! How’s things?”

“Vaaaaav!” Ray exclaims, making it abundantly clear that whatever suspect chemical compounds he downed previously are still making their way through his system. Gavin closes the door softly behind him, coming to sit on the bed next to them. When Ray’s hand wanders down to his thigh to pick at the gauze now thoroughly wrapped around a good half of it, Gavin snags it and starts playing with his fingers.

The ice comes away from his cheek, replaced by an almost equally cold hand that roughly checks for swelling, then taps his face playfully. “Alright, I gotta go. You think you’ll be okay with Gavin?”

“No,” Ray says, craning his head back. Michael rolls his eyes and claps Ray on the shoulder, shoves him halfway off. Ray stretches, arching back against him and tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair, tugging just to hear Michael hiss at him. Gavin laughs softly, reaches forward and grabs Ray’s arms, pulls him forward into an aggressive hug that Ray’s happy to abandon pissing Michael off for. He wraps himself around Gavin as hard as he can and Gavin squeezes back with enough force to make his ribs ache.

He sighs contentedly into Gavin’s collarbone and goes to mush as Michael takes an extended second to rub his back before getting up. “Stay safe, guys. Don’t do any more fucking drugs for the next, like, three hours.”

“Can’t make promises,” Ray mutters, and Michael snorts at him, swats the back of his head.

The door falls closed behind him.

There’s a hollow noise as Gavin drops his chin just a bit too hard on Ray’s skull, then the sound of both of them muttering “ow” at the same time, then Ray cackling. Gavin indignantly says “Hey. Piss off, you absolute addict,” and Ray just laughs harder.

“Greenhouses,” he says. Takes a moment. “Glass.”

“Well, alright, can’t argue with that point,” Gavin concedes. He tightens his grip for a minute, then presses a rough kiss into Ray’s hair. Softly, he asks “What do you need?” and Ray lets himself relax, take in a shuddery inhale. He’s still so pent up and hot it hurts, distantly, up in his chest and down low in his gut, waiting. Mostly without his permission his hips make an aborted half-roll, crooked and jerky.

“Just fuck me up,” he says, then bites down on the skin between Gavin’s neck and shoulder without preamble. Gavin sucks in a breath of his own, tips his head back and grabs Ray by the waist. “Can do,” he says, breathless.

Everything is still swimming so Ray anchors himself by the teeth, sucks hard and bites harder. When he’s finally done he pulls back to see a bruise blooming dark under Gavin’s skin. It’s moving and turning into a cherry blossom but also that might just be him. He ducks in to try and make a matching one on the other side but Gavin pushes him back onto the bed and kisses him with violence on the mouth, enough to hurt.

Ray can appreciate the violence. It brings his head to heel inside his body, gives him something to hold onto.

Their teeth slam together and Ray laughs through Gavin’s tongue in his mouth. Gavin laughs right back at him. They sound pretty dumb. Ray’s alright with that. He’s even more agreeable to how Gavin’s knee is worming between his legs and slowly spreading him even as they giggle like fools, Ray’s white-knuckled grasp on the bed sheets betraying just how much he needs this right now. Needs Gavin.

Needs Gavin to fuck him up. Like a lot.

“At least ten,” Ray says, following his own train of thought to the logical conclusion.

“Ten,” Gavin repeats. But he doesn’t question it. Instead, he smoothly slides a lock of hair behind his ear, hungry eyes searching Ray’s. Whispers, “How ‘bout we make that twenty?”

Ray groans, curls up into Gavin. “Fuck, Gavin, _please_.”

Gavin nudges his thigh up higher. “Yeah?”

“Fuckin’ yeah,” Ray agrees impatiently, “Fuck me _up_ , let’s go, let’s-” and cuts off with a high, desperate whine when Gavin wraps a hand around his throat. “God yes, choke me to death. Hoooly shit choke me until I literally die.” Gavin is biting his lip, seemingly caught between containing laughter and finding the request really goddamn appealing.

“Don’t tempt me,” Gavin says. Quiet. Measured. Tipping on the edge of humor and utter, flat seriousness.

Ray shakes under him, a convulsive thing that takes hold of his body from head to toe. He thinks that maybe he wants to. He thinks that maybe if he did, Gavin might actually do something that everyone else is too chickenshit to.

He thinks Gavin might actually fulfill the request, and if that isn’t the hottest fucking thing about the situation Ray’ll be damned.

“Just,” Ray says breathlessly, sliding a hand underneath his shirt, “Just- don’t disappoint me, yeah? Don’t leave me hanging like everyone else does, Vav.”

“God,” Gavin says, like a curse, then “I won’t leave you hanging but I might damn well hang you,” and Ray’s hips jerk automatically at that, the air leaving his lungs in a rush and his face going hot. He moans softly, almost under his breath.

“Christ,” Gavin says, and sits back, wrestles Ray’s shirt off without much of Ray’s help because he gets trapped the second there’s fabric over his head. He briefly mouths at Ray’s stomach like he’s really thinking about taking a chunk off of him, then stumbles off the bed, pulls Ray with him.

Ray hadn’t realized until just now how fucked up he still is. He’s still half-high. Probably. Kind of. Maybe a little more than half. It, for the given value of _it_ whatever the fuck  _it_ may be, is rattling him around inside his skin.

Really softly, though. Just enough. It’s good.

Gavin helps him down to his knees, positions him like a photographer posing a subject- actually leans away a few times and eyes Ray critically then adjusts his hands, the slope of his spine, before standing up with a cursory “Aight, stay, scene start,” and striding purposefully across the room.

He can’t get his eyes to focus all the way but follows Gavin around the room from where he’s knelt anyway, tracks the blurred shape until it gets close enough to sharpen.

In the background his brain is making vague connections to magnifying glasses to microscopes to getting sick and a sharp right turn to Jack in the hospital last month and a whirl over to how Michael volunteered for a paramedic team when he was younger and then Gavin sharpens more and shoves a gun in his face and he can think about that instead.

“Look at me,” Gavin is saying. Ray does his best. It must not be good enough because there’s a thudding blow to the side of his face (not the side that’s already bruised, he notices absently) that blooms out from his cheekbone into a sharper pain, and then Gavin is yanking his head back to where it was by the hair. “I said look at _me_ , not your own nose. Honestly, Ray, you’re a fucking useless junkie some days.”

The insult seems to crawl down Ray’s throat and block up his lungs and all he can do is stare, trembling, head very abruptly clearer.

There’s a pause, then Gavin amends his statement. “Most days.”

They both find out together what was stuck in Ray’s throat as he moans, stuttery and deep. A delayed wave of heat all slams at once into the pit of his stomach and the light in Gavin’s eyes takes on an edge like one of Ryan’s fucking knives.

Wow does Ray wish he wasn’t this high all of a sudden.

Gavin whistles, loud and mocking. “Je- _sus_ Christ, Ray. That’s a thing for you? Should’ve told me, I’d take the piss outta you any time.” He stops, seems to consider the idea and eyes Ray speculatively, tosses the gun from hand to hand. “Does it get you hard when Geoff cusses you out?”

It didn’t before today. Ray thinks now it fucking might, because he’s helplessly imagining Geoff standing over him with gun in hand, last meeting’s hard words mixing with Gavin’s harsh mockery and that’s really doing it for him. Shit.

Gavin doesn’t seem to mind the non-answer of Ray awkwardly averting his eyes. Possibly because the way Ray’s fucking springin’ it in his briefs is answer enough.

He reaches out with his free hand, wipes a thumb roughly under Ray’s nose. Ray leans into the touch and wobbles dangerously when Gavin pulls back. Possibly he should be trying to pay attention to the flakes of blood Gavin’s showing him, whatever the fuck Gavin’s saying about it, but it’s not really working out for him.

Things manage to clear up again for a second and he barely handles processing the words “-fucking mess-” and then ice water sluices over his head and into his eyes. He gasps, inhales water, starts coughing.

He doesn’t quite manage to catch his breath before the muzzle of the gun is shoved under his chin and another batch of water slaps him in the face. An absolute shitton of it lands in his open mouth and he chokes on it, tries to duck his chin into the gun and it presses harder. It only lets up when he convulses, full body, making an animal noise of clear-headed panic. He doubles over almost hard enough to slam his forehead into the floor, coughs up water so hard he gags and keeps gagging even as Gavin hauls him upright and smears away the dried blood under his nose, on his chin.

Gavin’s voice is much softer and much clearer when he next speaks. “How’s that? Better?” Ray nods weakly, stifles another cough then gives in to another three. Gavin looks vaguely pleased, tosses aside an empty metal bucket. Ray’s gotta give him props for having the right props.

Almost to himself Gavin says “Okay, Geoff, then,” crouching in front of Ray. He narrows his eyes and everything in Ray’s body seizes with dread. Except his dick. Unfortunately.

“S’it cause he’s your boss or just cause you’re a filthy bastard in general? Got a thing for authority figures? A thing for older men?”

Ray protests, water still dripping from his bottom lip. “I-it’s not like that-”

“No? You telling me all those times you disappear on the job and Geoff’s screamin’ into the mic it doesn’t get you off? Cause it’s gotta get you off somehow or else you’re just the dumbest piece of shit I’ve ever met. And you know I’ve met some _trash_.” Gavin doesn’t give Ray a chance to get a word in edgewise. He leans in closer, eyes bright, half lidded. It’s unbearably intimate. “Come on now, don’t be shy. You imagine Geoff’s cock in your mouth? Like to dream of him turning you over after a bad job and just having his way with you, huh, Ray? What is it about it that gets you so bloody hard?”

Ray’s breath is coming short, half from the arousal and half from panic because Gavin is coming awful fucking close.

And then he hits the nail right on the fucking dickhead.

“You just missing a good father figure?”

“ _God_ -” Halfway into forming a coherent protest, Ray’s lungs give out on a moan. “Don’t. Don’t.”

Gavin’s mouth parts on a silent _oh_ . His delight, whether it’s at Ray’s utter humiliation or finally finding out his dirty little secret, Ray doesn’t know, is obvious and awful and brilliant. “Oh, Ray. Ray. _Really?_ ”

Ray begs Gavin with his eyes to _not_. But this is Gavin Free, and really, what the fuck was Ray even expecting?

“You want him to take you to bed and call you a good boy? Or is it more a recreation scenario? You want what you had back? Wanna get smacked around a little? Either way you wanna say ‘ _daddy, please_ ’?” Ray shakes his head violently, which blurs every colour in his vision together. Gavin’s laugh is coming from five directions at once. He hears, through ringing ears, “Love, you do know you just said it to me, right?”

 _“Please,”_ is still leaving Ray’s tongue as he clams up, horrified.

“Because I can do that for you,” Gavin continues, voice low and savage, smirk as slow as molasses. “I can do that, if you tell me what you want done to you. How did daddy fuck you up, Ray? How badly?” Ray can only inhale, shaky and slow. His head is spinning. Gavin kisses him, soft and chaste, and keeps talking so quiet he can barely hear even with Gavin’s lips brushing his.

“Tell me what you want back and I can give it to you, sweetheart. I can fuck you up just how you need me to.”

It’s a belated realization that he’s crying, breaths hitching. Gavin’s hands are over his on his knees, their faces so close half the tears are running down Gavin’s face. “I can’t- I can’t do this, please-” he’s saying, words stumbling, but Gavin just says “You will,” and kisses him again, kisses his cheeks and forehead, shushing him. “You will. Tell me what you need.”

The words burst out of him, a desperate, high-pitched “ _Hitmewithabottle,_ ” immediately followed by a gasping sob. “Hit me with a bottle… ?” Gavin says, expectant, and through heaving breaths Ray barely manages to blurt out a mangled “ _Daddy_.”

Gavin rocks back on his heels.

“Wow,” he says, “You really mean it.” A beat. “Wait until Geoff hears about _this_.”

Ray’s eyes widen. “No,” he starts. “No, no nonono _nono-_ ” and Gavin is standing up, pulling out his phone, gun tucked absentmindedly into the back of his jeans. He points the camera at Ray. It doesn’t occur to Ray once to take his hands off his knees to cover his face; he can only turn his head, flinching, shaking so hard Gavin mutters something irritably about blurring.

Heat is radiating off of Ray’s face in waves as Gavin snaps off a few shots. The shutter sound effect is the loudest thing he’s ever heard in his fucking life. He tries, really, he does, to tune out Gavin’s vague chatter as he works. But he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Realistically, you just want someone to defile you,” Gavin states as he moves in for a close-up of Ray’s bruised cheekbone and damp eyelashes. “To gut you so bad we can’t put you back together, yeah?”

He cocks his head appraisingly. “You would make a good whore,” he informs Ray. “A terrible, selfish, useless crackhead of a whore, sure, but at least you would be a decent fuck. Spread your legs.” Ray is fucking helpless. He spreads his thighs apart as far as they’ll go, stuttering across the hardwood floor. Gavin nudges them a little further with the toe of his shoe. He murmurs approval and smiles.

“So good for me. Such a good boy.”

He takes a few more shots, pacing slowly around. “Chin up,” he says, and Ray does his best to keep his head up and body still even as sobs keep ripping through his throat. They only get worse when Gavin lowers the phone and starts typing.

“Dear Geoff,” he says, in an upbeat caricature of his own voice, “You’ll never guess what I learned about Ray today!” Ray can hear himself saying _no_ over and over, very quietly, interrupted by heaving breaths. “Check out this picture! He’s disgusting.” Gavin looks up at him from beneath his lashes, smiling.

Ray hiccups out a wet sob. “G-Gavin, I- please, I-I want to die, don’t tell him-”

“Nobody cares,” Gavin informs him, and makes an exaggerated twirling gesture, tapping the screen and trilling “Sent!”

The sob becomes a wail as Ray dissolves into helpless, abysmally ashamed tears even as he remains prone, not budging an inch until Gavin reaches down and pushes against his shoulder, tipping him onto his back. He cries and cries and cries as Gavin rests a heeled foot against his crotch, slowly bearing down. His dick twitches against the thin fabric of his briefs.

“Oh, you slut,” Gavin drawls. “This too? Wait, I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”

Ray apologizes through a veil of tears. It feels like Gavin’s dumped a second bucket of water over his head and the gun is the text he’s just sent Geoff and when Geoff opens it the trigger’s pulled. He can’t fucking breathe and everything about it is hot as hell.

Squirming and desperate to get some form of friction or relief, hands curling into fists on the hardwood, Ray’s sounds taper off into a whimper. The tears continue unabated and unaccompanied.

Gavin’s phone is still out, and he brings it back up into camera position, taking several swift steps backwards.

“Smile, darling. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter either way, nobody gives half a shit. Listen to me, I do prattle on, don’t I.” Gavin sighs fondly. “Come here, come here.”

Skin feeling like it might melt right off his bones, Ray hesitantly sits upright, flinches at a blow that doesn’t come.

“That’s right,” Gavin coos, watching as Ray shakily sets down a palm to steady himself. Tsks when he realizes, “No, no. Who the fuck told you to get up?” Impatience creeps into his voice.

Ray gapes at him, utterly bewildered. “But y-”

Voice dripping with acid, Gavin says, “ _Crawl,_ you useless sack of shit.”

 


End file.
